


Take Me Back To The Start

by NightValeian



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Clint Barton Feels, F/M, Kid Clint Barton, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Past Child Abuse, Protective Natasha Romanov, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightValeian/pseuds/NightValeian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a stray spell hits Clint, he finds himself a child again with no memory of his adult life.</p>
<p>After bringing him to Avengers Tower, Natasha finds that she's learning more about Clint's past then she ever wanted to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, I know that the relationship tags look weird, but it's going to be implied that their relationship was a little romantic prior to Clint being changed, so don't freak out on me.
> 
> Let me know what you think so far! Work in progress, but if it goes over well, I'll probably write more sooner.

Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she had run so fast.

She’d been out on field work when the call came; Clint was in the hospital, it was an emergency, and she needed to come back to New York right away.

If anything made her come home fast enough, it was Phil’s serious tone and the news that Clint was in the hospital.

She found Phil in the hallway, outside of the room with the number she had been given over the phone, and she skidded to a stop, chest heaving and heart pounding.

“Where is he? Is he alright?” She asked.

“There was an incident. The team was out in the field, Loki was being Loki." Phil began to explain. “There was a stray spell and Clint took the hit--”

“I want to see him.” She said, already going for the door but a hand on her wrist pulled her to a stop.

“Natasha, stop. I need you to listen.” Phil urged. “That’s not Clint Barton in there.”

“What is this, a joke? Who else would be in there?” Natasha demanded, trying to yank her wrist out of his hold.

“I mean, it’s not our Clint in there.” Phil continued, tightening his hold on her wrist. “That spell changed him, Natasha. He’s changed.”

Natasha hesitated, staring at him for a moment before he finally released her arm. "What do you mean he's changed?"

* * *

 

After Phil explained, Natasha was a little less willing to open that door and see it for herself.

A child; Clint Barton had been turned into a child and he didn't remember anything.

_"He doesn't remember us." Phil warned. "If you go in there, he's probably not going to be what you're expecting."_

Natasha took a deep breath  before pushing open the door, walking inside and letting the door close behind her.

Her eyes fell on him immediately; messy blonde hair, a stubborn scowl decorating his features, and a pair of bright blue eyes fixed on her the moment she stepped inside.

That was Clint alright.

"Hello, Clint." She said cautiously.

Clint's expression seemed to soften; the scowl shifted to a frown and the anger in his eyes faded to something closer to caution. Natasha was reminded of a frightened animal.

"You know my name, but you aren't a nurse." He observed. "Are you my social worker?"

The question caught her off guard. Social worker? Why in the world would he ask her something like that? Why would he be expecting a social worker?

"No, I am not your social worker."

"Then who are you? Where's Barney? Where's mama?"

Mama?

She knew Clint's parents had died a long time ago when he was just a boy, but he must have been reverted back to an age where they were still alive.

"My name is Natasha."  She offered because it was all she had to give.

She had no idea where Barney was or what to tell him about his mother. How could she look that child in the face and tell him the truth?

Clint's expression wavered, fear and uncertainty making itself known on his face.

There were questions there, but he was afraid to ask them.

She was afraid to give him answers.

"Am I going to live with you for a while? Until mama comes to get me?"

The words came from his lips so easily; it made her heart ache to think he had asked them before.

"If you'd like. I live in a tower that looks over the entire city." Natasha informed him because she really wanted him to trust her and that meant telling him the truth, as much as she could give him. "You'd have your own room, food whenever you want."

"My own room?" Clint echoed in surprise.

"Anything you want."

Clint hesitated, looking down at his hands which were clenched in his lap.

"So, you're my foster mom." He said finally, sounding disappointed, defeated. "I get it."

Foster mom? She didn't even know anything about being a mom, let alone a foster mom.

It was then that Natasha realized how little she actually knew about her partner. He never spoke of his mother or father and Barney only ever came up when he was just passing through on his way to the next big adventure.

What had Clint gone through when he was this young that made him so familiar with these terms? Case worker, foster mom; no child should know those terms.

"It won't be forever." Natasha said gently, walking to the bed and taking a seat in the chair beside it so she could look into his eyes on a more even level. "Just for a little while until everything gets sorted."

Clint swallowed, not seeming to believe her. It was probably a line he'd heard before, she guessed, by the look in his eyes.

"I won't make you come with me if you don't want to." Natasha began. "Mr. Coulson will be happy to--"

"I don't want to go with the man in the suit." Clint cut in, voice firm. "I...I want to go with you."

Natasha blinked, surprised. Phil had told her that Clint didn't seem comfortable with older male figures, so any doctors he'd had were automatically women and Phil was reduced to waiting in the hallway.

"You can come with me." Natasha said, voice surprisingly soft and the edge seemed to leave Clint's shoulders. "If that's what you want. This is all up to you."

She felt surprisingly protective over this boy. It was Clint, her Clint just a little smaller, and she was always protective of Clint even if he thought he never needed it, but now that he was a child? A child that was obviously afraid? She didn't want to leave him alone for a second.

"I want to go with you."

"Then with me you shall go."


	2. Home

Phil cleared Clint to go to the tower with Natasha without an ounce of protest. He agreed it would be much better for Clint to spend time in an environment where he felt safe as opposed to being holed up in a room at SHIELD until the spell wore off.

Natasha thought Clint would be safest with her anyway.

"Miss Natasha, where are we?" Clint asked, looking out the window of the car as it took them down the streets of New York towards Avengers Tower. "This doesn't look like Iowa."

That's right; Clint had grown up in Iowa. It must have been incredibly surprising to him to find out he wasn't even in the same state he'd been in the last time he'd been aware. He hid it well; how upset he really was, how scared.

"You don't have to call me 'Miss'." She told him. "It's just Natasha. Or...Nat or even just Tasha."

Adult Clint always called her 'Nat', but at some point in their relationship, he'd given her the affectionate nickname 'Tasha'. Tasha was a name that she only let him use and she wondered if some part of her Clint was still in there or if he would take the bait.

Clint hummed, looking away from the window to glance at her. He was still a bit hesitant to be with her, she could tell; she didn't blame him. Whatever he'd experienced so far in his life gave him every reason to be wary of trusting people and as much as she wanted to know, she would never ask him.

"...Tasha." Clint tried, saying her nickname slowly as if it were familiar to him, but only frowned after a moment and shook his head. "Where are we?"

"We're in New York City." Natasha told him honestly.

He was a smart kid; he knew they weren't anywhere near Iowa. What was the point in lying?

"How did I get here?" Clint asked next.

Okay. _Now_ she had to lie.

"Mr. Coulson came to pick you up from your house." Natasha said carefully. "We...got a phone call and he had to come get you. We honestly thought you'd be safer here until everything got sorted."

Clint was quiet for a long time and the silence almost made even Natasha uncomfortable.

"Did something bad happen? You only come when something bad happens." Clint stated, looking almost afraid of the answer. "Is...Is that why I can't remember stuff? Because something bad happened?"

How was it possible that Clint Barton could break her heart as an adult and as a child? How could he look at her with those big sad blue eyes and make her heart swell with emotion? She didn't know if that feeling was amplified because he was a suffering child or because he was just Clint and suffering.

How many times had Clint been taken from his home as a child because something 'bad' had happened? How bad could it have possibly been?

"Something not so good happened." Natasha replied at last and Clint's face crumpled a little so she was quick to reassure him. "But it's going to be fixed really soon. Everything will be back to normal before you know it."

He was so strong, so brave.

He was five; he was too young to know how to be so brave.

"Yeah." Clint mumbled, looking back out the window. "They always say that."

* * *

The team was waiting for them when they walked in the door and immediately Clint's demeanor went from relaxed to wary as he pushed himself behind her legs, peeking out at the men he once called teammates.

They all stood, stunned that Clint was still so small and still so young. They knew that Clint didn't remember any of them and that he was wary of older males, so Natasha really appreciated they weren't being themselves and they were respecting Clint's boundaries.

Steve was the first to make a move, offering a small smile and bending just a bit to get more on Clint's level. Clint's gaze turned a bit suspicious, but he didn't make any further motion to hide. Steve was one of the nicest guys Natasha knew; she knew that Clint knew he wasn't a threat.

"Hey, Nat. Who's your friend?"

"This is Clint." Natasha said, reaching behind her slowly to draw Clint to her side, hand on the top of his head reassuringly. "He's going to stay with us for a while."

"Nice to meet you, Clint. I'm Steve." Steve began, then motioned to the others one at a time. "This is Tony, Thor, and Bruce. We live here too."

Clint said nothing, pushing more against Natasha's side and she sighed, rubbing his head gently. "He's a little shy. Maybe we can try again later." She offered.

"His room is all set up." Tony replied, tone careful. He wasn't being himself; not loud and abrasive and Natasha thought that was very strange. "If you want to head up there, Clint, you can get settled."

Natasha gave Clint a weak smile when he looked up at her curiously. "I think that's a good idea. You must be tired." She suggested. "Come on, I'll take you up there."

Clint didn't speak a word until they were in the elevator, heading up to Clint's floor, which Tony had placed on the top of the tower when he'd first remodeled. Clint only stayed there every now and then, choosing most times to live independently in an apartment complex outside of the city.

They'd all agreed that Clint and Natasha should move in with all of them, at least until the incident was over. Watching kids could be complicated, especially when it came to a child with an equally complicated past.

"Why do you live with all of those men?" Clint asked her, breaking the silence.

"They're my friends. And we work together at the...agency." Natasha explained. "If it bothers you, we don't have to stay, but just know, I would never bring you into an environment if I thought you wouldn't be safe. I trust all of those men with my life and they will not hurt you."

Clint looked up at her, staring at her with suspicious eyes. She wondered just how many times he'd heard that line before because he obviously didn't believe her.

"And if you ever feel not safe or uncomfortable." She continued. "You tell me and we'll leave. No questions asked."

Clint hummed, but he did seem to be put at ease at her reassurance.

The elevator dinged, opening onto Clint's floor, and in the moment they stepped out, the lights flickered on and Clint's jaw almost hit the floor.

It was fully furnished; television, game system, incredibly soft couches, and a small balcony outside of the sliding door. And that was just the living room; there was also a fully stocked kitchen, probably filled with junk food if Tony was going by his 'what do children like' instinct.

"This...This is my room?" Clint asked in awe.

"Well, actually, this is just your floor. Your bedroom is in that room over there." Natasha said, pointing to the room she was talking about. "You'll sleep in there. I'll sleep out here on the couch."

Clint looked at her in surprise. "The couch?"

"I want to be close in case you need me. And I promised you your own room and that means your own bed." Natasha explained and Clint's eyes were as wide as saucers which she would have thought humorous if she didn't feel so sad for him.

"All for me..." Clint murmured, looking back out at the room in awe. "Tasha, this is--"

A clatter on hardwood from the bedroom caused Clint to startle and moments later, a dog ran in from the bedroom, tongue lolling as he approached the two at the door. Clint stumbled back in surprise and Natasha whistled sharply, causing the dog to stop right in front of them.

Lucky was Clint's dog, taken in from the streets and into Clint's home, and since Clint was staying at the tower, Lucky had to come too. Though, Natasha hadn't really taken into consideration how Clint would react with dogs.

"This is Lucky." Natasha said carefully. "I forgot he was here. He won't hurt you. Dog couldn't hurt a fly."

Clint stared at Lucky for a long time and Lucky stared back, whining quietly, obviously recognizing Clint even though he wasn't the same as when he'd walked out the door that morning.

Clint took a step forward, holding out his hand and Lucky hurried forward, licking eagerly at his hand before nudging under that hand so it was now resting on the top of his head. Clint hesitantly scratched Lucky's head and the dog sat down, tail thumping against the floor happily until Clint finally smiled.

Natasha hadn't seen him smile since they met at the hospital and it looked strange on this boy's face, like he didn't know how to smile or he just didn't smile that often. Her Clint smiled all the time, he always had a joke on hand or something quirky to say; it was like they were two completely different people.

"Is he your dog?" Clint asked with a laugh as Lucky licked his face excitedly.

"Well, yes, but...I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you took care of him." Natasha said honestly.

He looked so happy; how could she deny him this? A chance to care for his own dog?

"Really?" Clint asked excitedly, smile going wide. "I can take care of him?"

"Sure. If you think you can handle it." Natasha teased and Clint bounced on the balls of his feet, throwing his arms around Lucky's neck while burying his face into his fur.  

"I can! I can! I'll feed him and take him outside when he has to go and take him on walks!" Clint exclaimed and Natasha reached out, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Then he's all yours. How about you go see your room and change out of those clothes? I think Tony bought new ones in your size." Natasha mused.

Clint nodded, pulling away from Lucky. "Come on, boy! Let's go see!" He said, hurrying off to the bedroom with Lucky bounding after him.

Natasha only had to wait for a single moment before she heard Clint's cry of joy from the bedroom and she couldn't help but smile as she kicked off her shoes, making her way into the kitchen to check up on the whole food situation.

She felt significantly lighter knowing that something as small as a dog and a bedroom could make Clint so happy, but it also made her feel a little sad. A dog and a bedroom put the first smile on his face she had seen all day; what had his home life even been like as a child?

Did she even _want_ to know?

"Clint?" She called out after she concluded her search of the kitchen. There was a lot of junk food, but there were healthy options too, probably Steve's influence.

The boy didn't answer and since she hadn't heard a sound from him in some time, she decided to go check up on him.

"Clint?"

She walked to his room, very lightly knocking on the door before peeking inside.

Clint was sprawled out on the large bed, sound asleep next to Luckym who lifted his head at her entrance into the room. She honestly wasn't surprised; in addition to being turned into a five year old, he'd had a very long and stressful day. He needed all of the sleep he could get.

She approached the bed,  tugging down the blankets on the bed carefully so she could tuck him in. Clint turned to curl up against Lucky, grumbling quietly at being disturbed, but she ran a hand through his hair to soothe him until he settled once again.

"Take care of him, Lucky." Natasha said and Lucky woofed quietly before laying his head back down.

She didn't know how long this spell would last, but she really hoped it wouldn't be long.

The longer he was a child, the more she would find out about his childhood and what it was that made him the fidgety little boy she saw in front of her.

At this point, she really didn't think she would like the answer.


	3. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey, look, it's that chapter where it all comes to light. 
> 
> LOOK AT THIS AND BE WARNED: 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mentions of Past Child Abuse

It had been three days since the stray spell hit Clint and changed him into to his five year old self. Despite Tony and Bruce spending those days pouring over notes and research, they weren't able to come to any conclusion about when exactly the spell would wear off if at all. Thor had left for Asgard, intent on confronting Loki and seeing if the trickster would take the spell back, but so far, there had been no word and Natasha wasn't feeling hopeful.

Steve hadn't given up on befriending Clint. While giving him the space he needed, he was also intent on giving the boy another friend and after a single Disney marathon along with the promise of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, Clint had decided maybe Steve wasn't so bad after all and finally opened up to the idea of hanging around him when Natasha wasn't in the same room.

The sound of glass breaking had Natasha on her feet in an instant, hurrying from the living room to the kitchen with her hand reaching for her pocket knife, automatically assuming something was wrong or someone was breaking in.

When she got to the kitchen, however, all she saw was Clint standing in front of a broken glass and Steve on the floor, cleaning up the pieces. When Clint saw her, he moved around the mess on the floor to place himself between Steve and Natasha, as if he were hiding him from her sight.

"What happened?" Natasha asked, relieved nothing seemed to be wrong, but Clint's shoulders were shaking and his hands were curled into fists at his side.

"It wasn't Steve's fault." Clint announced, avoiding her eyes. "It was an accident."

"Of course it was." Natasha said, surprised that he was even telling her that."Steve isn't one to just break glasses on purpose."

"Please don't yell at him! Yell at me, it was my fault!" Clint exclaimed, closing his eyes tightly.

Natasha noted his posture, stiff, as if waiting for her to yell at him over a broken glass, something that was just an accident. When had this happened before? How many countless times had this boy been yelled at for nothing?

"I'm...Clint, I'm not going to yell at you or at Steve." Natasha said carefully and Steve looked up from the broken pieces of glass to focus on the conversation, eyebrows knitting together.

Clint let out an audible sniff, shoulders giving the slightest tremor. "Please don't hit me. I-It was an accident." His voice was so small, all signs of that brave little boy gone completely, because he truly believed that just because she wasn't yelling that she was going to raise a hand to him.

But why? It was a broken glass and it was an accident. Who would possibly hit a child over--

_No._

Natasha took a step back in shock, as if Clint's words had been a fist of their own, landing a blow on her that knocked all of the air from her lungs. Steve had forgotten about the glass all together now, turning to look at Natasha with wide eyes as if asking her if she'd known, but he could see that she hadn’t.

It suddenly started to come together; Clint being hesitant around adult males, how receiving the smallest gift that he could claim as his own made a bright smile appear on his face, or how he was so familiar with the child protective services system.

Clint had been abused. Her Clint, her sweet, always smiling Clint, had been abused.

Her silence must have confused him because Clint opened his eyes and looked at her, not understanding her shocked expression or why she hadn't reacted to his words. His gaze became a bit nervous, hands moving to the hem of his shirt, twisting it anxiously in his hands.

Natasha couldn't stand it; she moved forward and fell to her knees in front of Clint, she reached out slowly, hand reaching to cup his face and felt sick to her stomach when he flinched away from her, anticipating the hit that wouldn’t come.

“Hey….Hey, it’s alright. I would never hurt you.” Natasha soothed. “Remember? My job is to take care of you; never to hurt you.”

Clint sniffed, nodding slowly and she took the chance to reach out, running her hand through his hair to ease his nerves. It always made her Clint feel better after a stressful mission or even just when he was having a bad day and it seemed to help the younger version of Clint as well by the way a small amount of tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

She pulled back her hand and instead opened her arms for him which he walked into willingly without a moment of hesitation. Natasha held him tight; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d held Clint so tightly or if she’d ever held him so tightly before.

"I would... _never_   hit you." Natasha said firmly, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "Never in a million years. Not even if you burned the house down."

Clint sniffed, slowly wrapping his arms around her in return, burying his face into her shoulder and Natasha only held him tighter, distraught when she felt wetness coming through her shirt.

They’d known each other for years and she had never seen Clint Barton cry.

She never wanted to see it again.

"It was an accident..." He repeated weakly.

"I know, honey. I know." Natasha murmured, shifting her arms so she could lift him up, intent on taking him away from the room and the memories it was probably giving him. "It's okay. I promise it's okay."

"Go calm him down. I'll take care of the mess." Steve said, looking as distraught as Natasha felt. She had no idea how he was keeping it together and she wanted to fall apart, but she was thankful for his strength.

"Thank you, Steve." Natasha murmured. "Come on, Clint. Let's go upstairs and see Lucky."

Natasha carried Clint to the elevator in silence, only hushing him soothingly when he sniffed or his shoulders trembled a little too much. She’d sit with him as long as it took, willing to listen only if he was willing to talk.

For so long, she’d felt strange that Clint had known everything about her, but she’d known nothing about him. There had been so many times that she’d wondered how a little circus boy from Iowa had become an Avenger and felt hurt that he avoided ever telling her anything aside from the fact that his parents had died when he was very young.

Now she knew why he never talked about it.

Why would he? He must have hated remembering it.

At this point, she didn’t want to remember it either.


	4. Temporary Hiatus

Hello, everyone. 

In case some of you haven't noticed, but I'm sure a lot of you have, I have not updated in a while. This is due to the fact my laptop, the computer I use mostly for my writing, has broken. While I've been mostly working from a shared PC in my household lately, the feel for writing isn't the same when I'm downstairs around my parents as opposed to in the privacy of my bedroom and able to write freely without as many distractions. 

That being said, I'm getting a new laptop soon. The past few weeks have just been trying to find the best deal on the one I wanted so I could eventually go purchase one without putting myself in the poor house. Within the next week or two, I should be able to accomplish this purchase and get back to writing fics for all of you. 

I'm so sorry about the long wait and I'm sorry if you're a subscriber because you're going to be getting this notice a couple of times. 

I'll be back soon. Thank you for your patience.

-NightValeian


	5. Truth

“You’re not really a social worker, are you?”

Natasha looked over at Clint from her place on the couch. He was on the floor with Lucky, having been previously mulling over which movie they should watch from their movie collection. Since Clint’s meltdown the evening before, they hadn’t really left the room in favor of just keeping each other safe in the comfort of their room.

Clint hadn’t wanted to talk and she hadn’t asked him to; he’d gone to bed that night without another word.

“What makes you say that?” She asked curiously.

“You looked really surprised when I started to have my freak out. Usually, social workers know that I tend to freak out like that because of…what happens to me when I go home.” Clint admitted, glancing back at her. “But you didn’t. Steve didn’t either.  So, who are you? Where’s mama?”

He really was too observant for his own good; he always had been. He’d caught her and was demanding answers that she was told not to give to him. Bruce and Tony were convinced that they couldn’t tell Clint about the what happened because they didn’t know if it would have any kind of dramatic impact on him when the spell wore off.

“Clint, I can explain—“

“No more lies! _Where is mama_?” Clint demanded, turning to face her fully and Natasha was startled by the amount of pure anger on his face. She didn’t think it was possible for a little boy to look that angry. “Where is Barney? Stop lying to me!”

What could she possibly say without blowing it? Was hiding this from him really even worth it anymore? Who knew when he would change back? She couldn’t continue to lie to him for a few more days or even a few weeks. It wasn’t fair to him or to her.

“Clint, come here. I want to tell you a story.” Natasha began, patting the couch beside her and Clint’s eyes went wide with fear, as if knowing this was already going to be something he didn’t want to hear.

“No. I want you to tell me where my mama is! When can I go home and see her?” Clint asked, lip trembling. “She might be really worried or hurt or—“

“ _Clint.”_ Natasha stressed and he fell silent. She patted the space beside her again and he got to his feet, trudging over to her with his eyes on the floor.  He climbed up onto the couch and Natasha wound her arm around him, resting her hand on his head to tug him closer.

“I’m never going home…am I?” Clint asked quietly and Natasha shook her head slowly.

“I’m so sorry, Clint. Your mother…Your mother won’t be there if you go. And neither will Barney.” Natasha told him. “I’m not a social worker and I’m not a foster parent. I lied to you to protect you, but now all I want to do is tell you the truth.”

Clint dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and sniffed, trying to hide the fact that he was afraid and upset. He wanted to hide the fact that he knew Natasha was going to tell him that his father had finally done too much damage and he would never see his mother or his brother again as a result. “I just want to go home. I want to see my mama.” He told her weakly.

Natasha heaved a sigh, very gently playing with his hair to bring him comfort. She would never hear the end of this one, honestly, but she couldn’t just sit around and wait for everything to go back to normal because what if it never did? What if Clint never went back to his normal self ever again?

“I want to tell you about the bravest man I’ve ever met.” Natasha began, tone gentle, voice calm as if the boy in her arms wasn’t currently an emotional mess. “He’s very kind and very selfless. He always puts other people before himself, no matter what.”

Clint sniffed again, tilting his face back to look up at her. He was confused about her choice of story, that was obvious, but Natasha knew that everything he needed to know would come out of this story at the end of the night.

“The world knows him as the Amazing Hawkeye…” Natasha continued. “But I know him as Clint Barton…”

* * *

 

Natasha told him everything; she told him about the day they met, the attack on New York, the forming of the Avengers. She told him about what she knew about his mother, how she died, and where Barney’s last known location was said to be. She told him about the stray spell that hit him and turned him into a child, who she really was to him, and who the rest of the team was.

A lot of tears were shed on Clint’s part, especially when he heard the confirmation about his mother’s death. Her heart ached for him; it must have been awful to hear all of this for the first time, but once he had time to let it sink in, he was calm, sitting quietly next to her side.

Long after she even finished telling him everything she could remember, he sat there, probably processing it all and why not? There was a lot to process.

“If you have questions, I will be happy to answer them for you. I know this must be confusing.” Natasha said gently.

“So, I’m a superhero?” Clint asked her, looking up at her for confirmation. When she nodded, he hummed. “And I’m really a grown up, but I’m not a grown up right now.”

“Because of magic, yes.”

“When will I be grown up again?”

“We don’t know for sure. Thor went to find answers with magic. Tony and Bruce are trying with science, but they’re starting to believe that you’ll just turn back on your own.” Natasha explained. “We’re just not sure when that will be.”

“I think I’m ready to be grown up again.” Clint admitted, tilting so he could place his head in her lap. Something he used to do when he was an adult and he was stressed; she placed her hands in his hair, rubbing his scalp soothingly. “I’m brave when I’m grown up.”

“You’re brave now. And even when you’re grown up, you’re not always brave. No one is.” Natasha told him gently. “When you’re a grown up, it’s just easier to hide how afraid you are.”

“Are you always brave?”

“I try to be.” Natasha admitted. “But sometimes when people I care about get hurt…I am afraid.”

“Were you afraid when I turned into a kid?” Clint asked curiously.

“I was afraid. I was afraid that you were never going to turn back or that I wouldn’t know how to take care of you.” Natasha told him, still running her fingers through his hair. “I’m not very good with kids, but you took to me right away.”

“Because you looked nice. And familiar. I thought you could help me and keep me safe.” Clint murmured, eyes slipping closed, calmed by her hands in his hair. “You take good care of me.  Just like…Just like mama.”

“Shh…” Natasha soothed. “Your mother loved you very much, Clint.”

Clint inhaled shakily, but said nothing more, falling silent under the hands in his hair and the reassurance of Natasha being so close to him.

“And so do I, Clint. I always will.”

* * *

 

“Miss Romanov.”

Natasha was pulled from sleep by Jarvis’s voice echoing through the living room. She reached out blearily, fumbling for her phone that read 3:45am, and let out a groan of distaste.

“This better be important.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Romanov, but Agent Barton is in a state of distress and could use your assistance.”

Natasha was off the couch before Jarvis even finished his sentence, stumbling towards Clint’s bedroom in the darkness in a rush. A state of distress; a nightmare? A flashback? A memory? Who knows what could possibly have set him off at this time of night?

“Clint?” She called, opening the door to his bedroom and finding the lights already on. She looked around, seeing the lights underneath the closed bathroom door, and she didn’t hesitate to make her way over there. “Clint? Are you alright?”

She knocked lightly, gaining no response, so she simply decided to open the door after turning the knob, finding it unlocked.

“I’m coming in.”

When she opened the door, she froze, staring in shock at who was standing in front of her.

It was Clint, but it wasn’t Clint.

He was tall again, the regular height where he was just a bit taller than her. His skin was sun-kissed with the usual smatter of freckles across his nose and wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of his mouth emphasizing all his laugh lines.

The spell had worn off; her Clint was back. Her fully grown, adult Clint.

Did he remember? What did she say to him? Did she just remain casual?

“Clint? What’s wrong?”

Clint swallowed, looking himself over.

She’d been hoping he wouldn’t remember anything about this week, about being a child and everything that had happened during that time, but it looked like she wouldn’t be so lucky. He looked terrified, as if he was expecting to look at himself and see something totally different.

“I had a dream that I was a kid again…But it felt so real. I feel like I haven’t been in my own body in days.” Clint admitted. “Nat, what happened to me?”

Natasha sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ten-thousand years later*


	6. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's two years after the last update. I've graduated from college, started a new life...and finished a chapter in a story I never thought I'd finished.   
> I hope you enjoy it and that it was worth the wait.

When Clint walked out of the elevator onto their floor the following morning, Natasha could tell he had something troubling on his mind, but what it was exactly, she wasn’t sure. He hadn’t spoken about what had happened since she’d told him about it and she wondered if he’d finally come to talk about it with her.

“Do you have plans today?” He asked. “I was hoping you could take a trip with me.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow curiously, but decided not to ask him where or why. He was always one for surprises and he would never tell her anything that he was intent on hiding, though by the expression on his face, she wasn’t very sure if she wanted him to hide this surprise. He looked too serious.

“What time do you want to leave?” She asked instead and Clint smiled, seeming relieved that she agreed so quickly and didn’t ask any pressing questions.

“As soon as possible. You don’t need to pack a bag.”

Natasha stood from her seat, offering him a small smile and extending her hand for him to take which he did after only a moment of hesitation. She smiled a bit wider and squeezed his hand.

“I’m with you.”

* * *

 

Waverly, Iowa was desolate and empty; all farmhouses, maybe one every two miles or so, followed by the occasional herd of cattle or pack of horses grazing in tall grassy areas.

Natasha knew that Clint had been born and raised in Waverly, but she really didn’t understand why he’d flown them here just to rent them a car and drive her along a deserted dirt road for over an hour until he began pointing things out to her as he drove.

“Oh, hey! I used to catch frogs in that creek with Barney!”

“We had a neighbor down here who kept bees. He’d always give us a jar for free during honey season; delicious!”

“Man, I can’t believe I forgot about that old tire swing we put up out here…”

The longer they drove, the more Clint’s shoulders hunched and the more drawn his expression became; his sentences became quieter and by the time they actually arrived at their destination, Clint had stopped speaking at all.

They had turned off onto an old dirt path marked only by an old mailbox with a faded name on it that Natasha couldn’t quite read and followed the path up to a shabby looking farmhouse, a long way away from any other house nearby.

Clint took a deep breath, shut off the car, and stepped out.

Natasha followed, leaving the car to stand at his side.

They both stared up at the house in silence, taking it in.

It was falling apart. Broken windows, missing shingles, the wood was rotting, and the entire house just looked incredibly unsafe and uncared for like it hadn’t been lived in for over a decade. If she believed in such things, Natasha may even say it looked haunted, another word for it was condemned.

“Where are we?” She asked curiously, staring up at the old house.

“I used to live here.” Clint informed her, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “When I was a kid. The age you met me at this past week…This was my house.”

“You…You lived here?” Natasha asked in surprise, following him as he walked forward, approaching the old, rotting steps that led to the porch.

“I lived here. With my mom and my brother. And my old man.” Clint explained quietly, putting his hand on the wood of the front door. “Barney and I inherited the property when our parents died and we came of age, but neither of us wanted anything to do with it. So it just sits here and rots. I think I might have someone just come and tear it down.”

With one forceful shove of his shoulder, Clint forced the front door open, the wood cracking against the amount of strength he’d used. It smelled like mold and rotting wood when they walked inside the main hallway, the living room to the left completely empty aside from piles of leaves or branches that had come in through the holes in the windows.

“The furniture was sold long before we inherited it and even if it hadn’t been, I don’t think we would have taken any of it.” Clint continued on, making his way through the living room and into what was once the kitchen before stopping. “My mama used to make the most amazing pancakes in here. I swear, it was the only reason I’d get out of bed on Sunday morning.”

Natasha said nothing, staring at Clint’s back and noting how his hands were still clenched into tight fists in his pockets. Why were they here? Clint had obviously not stepped foot in this house since he’d been a child and it was clearly something that was very difficult for him.

“I wanted you to see my life before I became anything. You were right, Tasha. I never told you anything about my past, but it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you it was because…” Clint trailed off, taking a deep breath. “It was because I didn’t like remembering it.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t ready to.” Natasha said suddenly. “Your past is your business. It has nothing to do with me.”

“It became your business when you started taking care of six-year-old me and you got part of a story. It’s not fair that it went unfinished after everything you went through taking care of me.” Clint said with a shake of his head, leading her out of the kitchen and up the stairs in the foyer. “Watch your step.”

They climbed the stairs, the only accompanying sound being the creaking of the old wood beneath their weight. When they reached the landing, Clint motioned to a room on the right. The door was open, but like every other room there was nothing inside, but for some reason, Clint wouldn’t even glance at it.

“This was mama’s room. And _his_ room too, I suppose, but he spent more time passed out on the couch than he did in here. She had a vanity and she’d sit at it, do her hair…It was like her own safe place.” Clint explained, turning to the door on the left. The door was firmly shut and Clint placed his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to himself before opening it. “This was my room.”

It was a small room and it was so empty, it was hard to imagine anyone living in here at all. There were small holes in the wall from nails, probably from hanging pictures or posters, and dust bunnies making their way across the floor due to the wind coming in from the widow.

“Barney and I shared this room. We had bunkbeds, can you believe it? I had the bottom bunk. Mama was terrified I’d roll out.” Clint said with a snort, walking around to examine the walls. “We had two desks over here and a goldfish that sat right here in his bowl. I think I named him Swimmy, I was never good at naming things.”

He stopped in one spot, looking down at the wooded floors and closed his eyes. “Our bed was here. We would always hide under it when dad came home from the bar.” He explained. “We tried to get mama to hide under it too, but…she was too brave to hide.”

Natasha looked away from him; it was too difficult to watch him force himself to go through this. On the doorframe, she saw the faint marks of a growth chart. She could barely make out the letters ‘C’ and ‘B’ written in a woman’s handwriting. Suddenly, everything was too difficult for her to take in.

“She’d read us one story before bed every night and it was always about a dashing hero who would save the weak from the evil. She would do a different voice for every character and it was like the story came to life right here in our bedroom.” He continued. “I’d tell her we should run away to one of those faraway places and find her a hero who could protect her, but she’d laugh and say ‘this is just make believe, sweetheart. These places don’t exist.’ She believed in heaven though, so I hope that’s real at least.”

Clint paused, scuffing his shoe on the wooden floor, shaking his head. “We were in bed when the police came to tell us about the accident. He was drunk, he wanted to drive.” He informed her. “She went with him. We begged her to say, but she said she’d be right back…”

“You don’t have to do this.” Natasha said quietly, not knowing what else to say. Her heart ached for him; the past week she’d spent with that vulnerable little boy, knowing what he’d gone through and imagining just how difficult his childhood had been, only to be brought to the very house in which it all happened? It was too much. “This is so hard on you. You should be resting after all of the stress you were put under—“

“This is the house that built me, Tasha. I always say that the circus made me who I am, but I was here first…” Clint explained, opening his eyes and turning to face her. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were wet; he looked haunted. She wanted to take him so far away from this place; to take him home and protect him.

“I know…I know. And look at you. You turned out just fine. You were a good boy then and you’re a great man now.” Natasha said gently, holding her hand out for him, expression pleading. She couldn’t stay in this nightmare any longer; it was too much to stand in the rooms where it all happened and listen to Clint narrate his past. “Let’s go outside, okay? Let’s go home.”

Clint took her hand, lacing their fingers together tightly.

“I can’t go home. I have one more place to go.”

Natasha sighed but nodded regardless, relieved when they made their way down the stairs and out of that house. She hoped it would be demolished; she never wanted Clint or herself to see it again for as long as they lived.

* * *

 

Edith Barton’s gravestone was beautiful; it was marble, nicely polished, well taken care of and a small vase of flowers resting nearby indicated that it had been visited recently. When Clint laid eyes on the flowers, his fingers tightened around hers immediately, face contorting with emotion.

“Barney must have been here recently. He brings flowers when he comes through town.” Clint told her quietly as they stopped in front of the stone. “I bought her a new stone when I started working for Shield; she deserved something nice. Dad kept his old one.”

Harold Barton’s gravestone was a good space away from Edith’s; small, not taken care of, the writing barely legible on the stone. Natasha looked at Clint, squeezing his hand gently. She could see how difficult it was for him; she’d never had to mourn a parent, not like this. She didn’t even remember hers, but Clint…It was obvious that Clint had loved his mother very much.

Clint swallowed. “Hi mama.” He announced to the stone, voice cracking and oh, if hearing that sound didn’t break her heart. “It’s Clint. I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately…Saving the world is so time consuming, but I know, no excuses. I’ll do better.”

“I think Barney was here recently. He brought you flowers.” Clint continued on, dragging his free hand over his eyes to chase away the tears that were already building. “I don’t know how he’s doing, but he must have been just passing through like always. I didn’t bring you any this time, but I brought something else to show you.”

Clint glanced at Natasha and offered her a weak smile and she squeezed his hand tightly. “This is Natasha, mama. She takes such good care of me. Keeps my ass out of trouble constantly.” He chucked quietly, shaking his head. “Sorry. Language.”

“You don’t have to worry, mama. She takes care of me.” Clint continued on. “I showed her the farm…And I thought it was about time she at least came with me to see you. She needed to see what built me from the ground up.”

Natasha knew that Clint knew that his mother couldn’t hear him; if there were a heaven or not, Edith Barton was completely at peace without a care in the world. She was long gone, but talking to her gave Clint a sense of peace that he desperately needed. Every person grieved in their own way and it felt almost too personal that she was there, listening to him talk to someone she didn’t even know, but she knew he wanted her there.

“You’d really like her. She’s tough. We keep each other safe.” Clint said, smiling a little before bowing his head, sniffing again. “I hope you’re doing well. I’ll come see you again soon, I promise.”

Clint tugged her hand, trying to draw her away, but Natasha stayed in her place, staring down at the gravestone of her lover’s mother and felt conflicted, like she should say something, but she didn’t know what. How did one talk to a piece of rock?

“Go back to the car. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Clint gave her a curious look, but nodded, wiping his face, trudging off to the car with his head down and his hands in his pockets. Natasha waited until he was out of earshot before she sighed.

Edith Barton was dead; there was nothing false about that. Talking to her wouldn’t bring her peace and it certainly wouldn’t bring her back from the dead, but…in the past week, after her experiences with Clint’s younger self and all of that drama that followed, she felt like she needed someone to talk to that understood, even if that person couldn’t talk back.

“Your son is amazing. You were very lucky.” Natasha began, staring awkwardly at her feet. “He’s brave, fearless, but he’s also reckless. I have to save him from getting into trouble all of the time and sometimes, I feel like I’m doing a terrible job and then he feels like he needs to save me.”

Natasha swallowed, shifting her weight. “I know he loves you and that he misses you, even though he may never visit or that he never talks about you, but he does. In the past week, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a little boy ever ask for his mother so much.” She admitted. “He talks about you like you were the personification of everything good and pure in this world…And I want to thank you for passing those gifts onto him.”

Natasha’s eyes began to burn and she blinked. How odd; crying for a woman she never knew, but suddenly she felt like she had known her entire life just by loving her son. She glanced at Harold Barton; his entire life just a carving on a sad looking rock. She hoped he was burning in hell where he belonged. “I’ll take care of him.” She concluded firmly, turning away from the gravestone and starting back to the car. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Natasha walked back to the car slowly, taking that time to compose herself before she climbed into the passenger seat and reached across to take Clint’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His eyes were dry, but they were still red from where he’d been crying.

“She’d be so proud of you.” Natasha said and Clint snorted, shaking his head, but there was a smile in place. “I mean it. You’re much more like her than you probably know.”

Clint lifted her hand and kissed it gently, shifting gears and driving them out of the cemetery.  “Thank you. For everything.” He sighed. “For taking care of little me. I know I was a punk. Thank you for coming here with me…for talking to my mom and all that.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You know I’m with you, no matter what.” Natasha said firmly, then offered him a smile. “How about we take a plane home and you make me some of those amazing pancakes your mother used to make you?”

“It’s cinnamon, she always added cinnamon.” Clint said suddenly, glancing at her with a small smile. “I think I’d like that. I could use some downtime.”

“Then cinnamon pancakes and downtime we’ll have.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end.   
> What did you think? Was it worth the wait?   
> Lemme know :)

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Let me know in a comment or over at my [Tumblr.](http://boomerangarrows.tumblr.com/)


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